His Girl
by Alice Rider
Summary: Mewtwo was never really able to let go of the little girl who had cared for him. But Mew isn't very good at respecting personal space.


Yes, he hated the humans. Their entire race was like a curse; their existence, an ugly stain in the fabric of his world; their deceit left a bad taste in his mouth. He would have rather died than spend a single moment's energy on them.

But she…she had been different. He remembered how it'd been, when she was still around and the world seemed perfect. She had been the only one who never saw him as a beast to be caught, imprisoned, and trained; she never saw him as the monster he felt like. She treated him as a friend' someone who needed help and love and attention; she cared for him as deeply, almost as much as he for her. Had their fate been up to him, he would have never let her go; he would have used all of his power and might on her and her happiness.

But the choice had never been his to make. It all began as a far-off whisper that was easily ignored that grew and grew like a tumor until it transformed into an intolerable screaming; the voice in his head thrived in the recesses of his mind because somewhere, deep inside of his conscience, he knew that _she had to be free_, that _she had to grow up_; he just didn't want to face the facts out of a childish, selfish desire. The voices of his mind fought a long, strenuous war, where reason won in the end; with a heavy heart that was shattered like glass, he gave her back to the world in which she really belonged. How he missed her and her strange quirks and habits that had come to fill his life so completely that he became lost without her; the separation hurt more than he could have ever dreamed it would. But sometimes, if the inner voice would allow it, he'd visit her world and just watch how her life had panned out; just to make sure she was happy.

The years rolled by quickly, far too fast for his liking; he couldn't even remember where the time had gone. One day, she had been a little girl, the next an old woman with generations of family after her. He had always known how cruel time could be, but it never really sunk in how silent of a killer it was. That day was forever seared into his memories, the day when her smile faded and her eyes lost their light; just thinking about her, lying so still in her bed with that ever-there smile still playing her lips as her heart beat its last ba-dump, made him want to die. He knew he should have been happy that she had gotten the chance to live such a long, healthy, normal, _human_ life with other humans she loved, but he could never shake that selfish feeling that she was his _first_, and that it should have been _him_ at her side in those final moments, not those rotten humans.

Now, he'd been reduced to this, missing her so much at times that he had to sneak away from his best friend/ worst enemy to come and stand before a rounded stone to read her name to calm himself. But he didn't quite mind just standing there sometimes, reliving he days he had with her on an endless loop. It sort of reminded him that the whole of the race wasn't all worthless. Was that wrong?

As long as her name made him smile, he really didn't care.

"Either I've gone crazy or my eye sight has betrayed me. All of these years you lead me to believe that you hated the humans." Her high pitched, twinkling voice was so out of place in his thoughts and in this realm that it forcefully dragged from his train of thought in frozen shock. "Yet here you are, in a human cemetery, dressed as one of the devils themselves."

He found himself, whirling to meet the very bright, very cognizant cotton candy blue eyes of a small, blond girl who had the misfortune of sharing the exact same voice and teasing grin of his best frienemy. "You," he managed to choke out.

"Me!" She giggled, a peal of bells far too lively for the atmosphere around her.

"How did you find me?" His tongue nearly stumbled on his words, and if there was ever a point in trying to hide something from her, he would have tried; her teasing smirk turned into a mischievous toothy beam.

"You left me all alone and I got bored. It doesn't take a world class detective to follow your trail."

"So you're mental acumen was to stalk me so for pure entertainment value?"

"Yup!" She smiled, but it was softer this time, more understanding. Gently sliding one of her tiny hands into one of his, she joined him in front of the grave.

He resigned with a reserved sigh; fighting with her was like trying to climb a ladder with no rungs: pointless and impossible. So he did what he always resorted to in times like these: he let her have her way. She was getting far too good at doing that.

"Mew, you do realize that it's improper and frowned upon to wear pink at a cemetery, right?"

"Yes, but I find it's better to celebrate someone's life with bouncy, vivacious colors rather than mourn their passing with dim and hopeless ones."

Darn her and her sugar-coated was of looking at life; sometimes, she just had way too much hope for it to be good for her. She really needed to start sharing.

"That's the stupidest thing you've ever said," he mumbled, if only to have a rebuttal against her, a smile playing with the corners of his mouth. She only giggled, a classic Mew response.

All was quiet in the moments that followed, where their two beating hearts seemed to be far too loud between the rows of stone and their breath was the only movement of the air.

"You cleaned it," she whispered.

"I most certainly did not."

She sighed, disguising it as a lifeless chuckle. "You're so transparent Twoie." Here, he'd let that ridiculous nickname of his slide.

"Do you think she knows it's me?" No. That did not just come out of his mouth. He never randomly spit out sentimental crap like that. It just wasn't done. So why did that garbage just fly out of his mouth with no warning at all?

She just let out a laugh, high and trilling. "Yes Twoie, I think she does."


End file.
